Struggling this week. Feel very low, tired and quite unpleasant both in body and in demeanour. I don’t know if it’s the drugs, or if I have a bug, or if it’s just me.

Big, big, buserelin tantrum this afternoon when washing up and the WATER HAD THE TEMERITY TO KEEP SPLASHING OUT OF THE WASHING UP BOWL. Kicked the kitchen cupboard and ran upstairs to hide.

Keep swinging between wild optimism at the thought that this cycle might be successful, and gloom at prospect of what sometimes feels like the inevitability of failure, after the kindly consultant pointed out to us that, after one live birth and one miscarriage, this cycle ought by the laws of probability to fail outright.

Optimism fuelled by intense broodiness. Lovely, tiny little new born baby at wedding in which I was singing this afternoon. Wanted to skip down from the choir stalls and give it a cuddle. This would no doubt have alarmed its parents (whom I do not know), so fortunately I didn’t.

Despair countered by imagining what I might do to comfort myself if cycle fails, e.g. take up scuba diving, lose some weight, drink gin.

New side effect this cycle which I don’t recall experiencing before of bizarre mental behaviour. Examples: whilst napping in car (as passenger not driver), suddenly waking up and saying “Zip!” (???); chasing after a woman in the shopping centre whom I was convinced was someone I had been to university with (it wasn’t); having argument on phone with hairdresser receptionist who denied I was booked in for an appointment until I suddenly realised I had booked at Trevor Sorbie and was in fact on phone to Toni and Guys.

Told my mother, who comfortingly suggested this was probably not the drugs but more typical of early onset dementia.